The Awakened: The Awakened Duology

By Sara Elizabeth Santana

For Zoey Valentine, the roughest parts of her life are having to go to one of the many self defense classes her dad makes her take and dealing with Ash Matthews.

That is, until the Z virus hits.

It wipes out a third of the population in a matter of weeks. If that weren't frightening enough, the bodies of the victims disappear and suddenly reappear, awakened from their dead state. They're faster, smarter, and they work together to get the one thing they crave - human flesh.

The United States is in a panic and the government decides to do the unthinkable: bomb every major city across the country overrun with the Awakened.

Now Zoey is on the run, with her dad and Ash, desperate to find a place of safety amongst the ruined remains of the country.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sara Elizabeth Santana
• Release date: Jun 16, 2020
• ISBN: 9781734983302

Book preview

Prologue

I’m pressed against the cold tile of the floor, and I can’t breathe. I can’t remember how long I’ve been here. Has it been hours? Days? Weeks? Time is lost, and all I can feel are the shivers going through me.

---

I’m hungry. They brought me food earlier, and the smell wafted over me. It’s been so long since I’ve had real food, and I want nothing more than to eat it, to fill myself up, scrape the plate with my fingers. Screw utensils. Utensils are for a civilized world. That doesn’t exist anymore.

---

I can’t eat their food. I can’t. I don’t know what’s in it. But I’m hungry. I’m so hungry, I can barely stand it; I can barely think, and the smell is overwhelming, and I feel like I’m going to throw up but there’s nothing there. I can’t throw up. But I can’t eat it. I don’t know what they’ve put in it, and I’m tired of the darkness. I’m scared of sleeping when I’m not tired, and I’m scared of what is going on outside the door that I can’t get out of.

---

I think of Dad. Mom. Bandit. Madison.

---

I miss Ash.

---

I’m so cold.

---

There’s a click, and I manage to pull myself up into a sitting position. The door begins to creak open, but I’m too exhausted and too hungry to do anything about it.

---

They’ve finally come for me.

Part I

Chapter 1

My aim was getting better.

And okay, sure, I hadn’t hit the actual head on the target in at least a few rounds, but who was counting? I definitely wasn’t.

Zoey, you need to lift your arm just a little bit. I’m glad you can shoot the target now, but let’s try actually hitting what we aim for.

I sighed, trying to ignore my dad’s voice in my head. It was because of him that I was even learning how to shoot a gun. I’ve lived my entire life in Manhattan in the great state of New York, and yeah, sometimes things aren’t all sunshine and rainbows here, but it wasn’t exactly the worst place to live either. But my dad is a police chief, and he tends to be a little overprotective sometimes.

You’re thinking of your dad right now, aren’t you? my best friend Madison called over the partition that separated us. As soon as my dad signed me up for gun lessons, Madison’s dad had jumped on board. We both thought it was incredibly stupid, until Madison started to do infinitely better than me. Madison was good at a lot of things, and she loved being good at things. Success was her biggest talent, not that I had noticed or anything. But at least we were together. Anything was manageable as long as I was with Madison.

I raised my gun. My eyes were intent on the target a few yards in front of me. I was determined to actually hit what I was aiming for this time. I breathed in and out and then fired. The bullet hit the paper right in the square of the chest.

Nice, Madison complimented right before firing her own gun.

Except that I was aiming for the head, I grumbled. "You know, if I ever need to actually use a gun, I’m going to be absolutely useless."

About fifteen minutes later, we were walking outside, heading toward the subway. Madison was gushing about the praise she had received from our instructor today. I was massaging my arm and feeling sorry for myself. My dad is in the New York police force, so he’s amazing with a gun, yet I couldn’t fire one to save my life, which I think was kind of the point.

You’re going to get better at this, Madison insisted, breaking into my thoughts.

I would love it if I didn’t have to do it at all, I answered, sliding my Metro card through the slot and stepping through. We jogged a bit to make the train that had just pulled in and made our way through the car, looking for some empty seats. We found some near the back and collapsed into them.

Madison shrugged, pulling out her phone and typing a quick text message to her boyfriend Brody. I was surprised it had taken her this long to have the phone in her hand. The only times the two of them were NOT texting each other were when we were in school, at gun practice and while sleeping. In a few months, we’re going to be in college! COLLEGE, Zoey! Your dad just wants you to be protected.

Yeah, except for the fact that I can’t exactly keep a gun in my dorm room, Maddie. And we applied to Columbia and NYU. We could live at home if we wanted to.

We are not living at home! Dorms! Roomies! We’ve been talking about this for years, she said, fiercely. I raised my eyebrow at her, and she smiled. And as for using a gun, how ’bout this? She placed the phone in her lap, and used her hands to talk. What if someone on campus attacked you, and they had a gun, and somehow you got the gun? You should be able to use the actual gun.

I’m surrounded by paranoid people. It’s bad enough that I have gun lessons, self-defense, kickboxing and mixed martial arts classes. Not to mention school, homework and cheer practice. Please do not encourage my dad to add more to my plate, I said, rolling my eyes. Come on; let’s go.

We got off the subway and started making the short walk home in silence. Madison typed furiously on her phone, and I watched a couple kids playing soccer in the street.

As we walked up to our houses, standing next to each other, I got a strange feeling like someone was walking right behind me. I turned around quickly, and seeing no one there, I frowned. I turned back around and ran right into someone and shrieked.

Hello, Z, Ash Matthews said grinning.

It’s Zoey, Ash. Zoey, not Z. My name does contain more than one letter. And stop doing that, I said, stepping around him.

Aw, come on, Z. I know you’re happy to see me, Ash said, falling into step with us. From the corner of my eye, I saw Madison’s lips quivering with a barely concealed smile.

Actually, Ash, not everyone is always happy to see you, I replied.

Not true, Madison whispered under her breath. I shot a glare in her direction but didn’t say anything.

Are you ladies going to the dance on Friday night? he asked.

As head of the dance committee, I’m obviously going to be there, Madison said, finally looking up from her phone at the same time I said, No.

Ash stopped, sticking his arm out to stop me, his hand curved around my hip. I flinched at the contact between us and raised my head to look at those big gorgeous blue eyes. Now, why wouldn’t my girl be going to the dance on Friday?

Let go of me, I said, trying to wriggle from his grasp. And I’m not your girl.

Ash laughed as he let me go. I grabbed Madison’s hand and started dragging her away. See you at school tomorrow, Z.

You are SO in love with him, Madison laughed as I yanked her down the street.

I growled in response. She laughed again before turning to climb the steps of her own brownstone apartment. I stuck my tongue out at her and walked past the three apartments that separated my house from the one Madison’s family shared with a couple other families. I kept my head down as I passed Ash’s house, hoping that he had already made his way inside. I didn’t care what Madison said; I was definitely not in love with him. The guy drove me crazy.

Ash and I had lived next door to each other for as long as I could remember, even before my parents divorced and my mom went back to her hometown in Nebraska. He has always been the bane of my existence. When we were nine, he made me eat a mud pie. When we were eleven, he used to snap the straps of my bra, because I was the only girl that young who needed to actually wear one. And now that we’re eighteen, he continues to drive me absolutely insane.

But the guy was ridiculously good looking. He was the tallest guy at my high school, no question, with dark brown hair and these stupid big blue eyes that caused most girls at the school (and some teachers) to swoon. He was also the captain of the football AND the baseball teams, which gave him a body that even I couldn’t help but admire.

I slipped my key into the lock of my own brownstone and felt it click. Some people in my neighborhood had really great jobs, ones where they could afford to live in a brownstone by themselves. But most brownstones were split into apartments amongst at least two families. We had our own brownstone, left behind to my dad when my granddad died. It was garishly big for the two of us, but it was home.

It was empty at the moment though, but that was to be expected. As a police chief in New York, my dad tended to not be home very often.

I called for Bandit, my dog. He’s a purebred German shepherd who, despite being a few years old, acted like an overgrown pup. He came bounding down the stairs. I fitted a leash on him and took him for a quick walk around the block, making sure that he did his business. I got Bandit from my mom for my 12 th birthday; she had tried to use Bandit as a tool of persuasion during my parents’ divorce. Unfortunately for her, the plan backfired since I chose to remain in New York with my dad.

When I got back, I dumped the leash in the entryway closet and kicked off my shoes. One flew across the open hallway. I shrugged, not wanting to chase after it. Bandit showed signs of wanting to go after it but instead trotted away toward the basement. I made my way into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator to see what I could scrounge up for dinner.

About twenty minutes later, I was plopping down on the couch in front of the television, ready to watch some trashy TV until the Mets game came on. I lifted the burger I’d fixed to my mouth just as my phone lit up beside me, blasting out the theme song from Battlestar Galactica.

Hey, Dad, I said, cradling the phone between my ear and shoulder, eager to dive into my hamburger.

Hey, champ, came the booming answer, how did lessons go tonight?

Great! I forced cheerfulness in my voice.

Oh yeah?

Yeah, definitely! I’m definitely improving! I assured him.

You are such a liar, he laughed.

I laughed. "I know. I swear, though, I think I am getting better."

Yeah, we’ll see about that, he answered. Have you eaten?

I looked down at my hamburger, which was getting colder each second that I was on the phone with him. No, but I…

Awesome. Craig gave me tickets to the Mets game tonight. You wanna go?

I sat up. Yeah, definitely.

All right, give me time to get home and we’ll head over there, okay?

Perfect! I sprang up off the couch and flew into the kitchen, where I wrapped up the burger and stuffed it into the fridge. I went upstairs, put my Mets jersey on, threw my messy brown hair into a ponytail, slipped my worn out Chucks on, and then went downstairs to wait for my dad on the front porch.

Zoey-bell!

I groaned, putting my head in my hands and wondering, not for the first time, how I got myself into situations with Ash Matthews. I wish he would just move away so I didn’t have to see him. Every. Single. Day. Go away, Ash.

You going to the game tonight, Z? Ash said, ignoring me and coming to sit next to me on the stoop.

No, I just like wearing my jersey randomly while waiting on my front stoop, I said, sarcastically.

You’re so mean! Why do you always gotta be such a heartbreaker with me? he said, leaning back on his palms. I glanced over, catching a glimpse of his toned abs between his shirt and jeans.

I blushed and turned away. If you leave me alone, Ash, I promise I’ll be nicer to you.

Come on, we’ve been next door neighbors for, like, our whole lives. Aren’t we friends?

I burst out laughing at that one. Do you call shooting spitballs at me during fourth period ‘being friends’? I asked.

All fun and games, Z, all fun and games, Ash said, dismissing it with a wave. Don’t you remember that boys are mean to the girls they like because they’re too awkward to actually do anything about it?

I shook my head, looking back at him and getting sucked into those stupid, stupid, stupid blue eyes. You don’t like me, Ash Matthews.

He sat up and leaned toward me. He was only a few inches away from me, and his breath smelled perfect, like spearmint Listerine mouthwash. I sucked in a breath, ignoring how hard my heart was pounding in my chest. Now, wouldn’t you like to know?

I rolled my eyes, trying to diffuse the tension between us. I could feel the warmth coming from him, and his blue eyes were fixated on me. You have a girlfriend, Ash. Heather Carr, remember?

Heather doesn’t hold a candle to you, baby, he said in a low voice. He came closer, even closer, and my body began to betray me. I leaned toward him and closed my eyes.

Suddenly, my face was wet. I opened my eyes in shock only to see Ash pointing a small squirt gun at my face. He was laughing hard.

I wiped my hand across my face. I hate you so much, Ash.

Lies, all lies, he said, still laughing. One day, you’ll admit how much you love me and then maybe you’ll get that kiss that you seem to want so much.

I stood up, folding my arms across my chest. Ugh. You wish.

He placed a hand on his chest, looking forlorn. Oh, but I do wish, Zoey Valentine.

I shrieked in frustration, bounding down the stairs, ready to walk all the way to Citi Field if it got me away from him. I ran right into someone with so much force that I bounced back and almost lost my balance. A hand reached out and grabbed me before I reached my imminent doom on the sidewalk.

Heya, champ.

Sorry, Dad, I said, still fuming.

Hey, Mr. Valentine!

I groaned again. Hey, Ash, how’s it going? Season is going pretty well, isn’t it? Dad asked, eagerly. My dad loved Ash and spent way too much time talking to him about football and baseball. Ash wasn’t just the captain of the football team, he was the quarterback. He wasn’t just the captain of the baseball team, but the star pitcher. He was everything my dad would have wanted for me, if I didn’t have, you know, boobs and stuff.

Dad, can we go? I hissed at him under my breath.

My dad looked down at me with a familiar look on his face. He thought I was being dramatic. My mom had given my dad a lecture when I turned thirteen. She told him all about the terrors of raising a teenage girl. He seemed to take that to heart, as since then every reaction I had to anything was over dramatic and irrational. I’m talking to Ash, Z.

My mouth dropped open, and I turned to Ash who was trying and failing not to laugh. God, not you too. My name is Zoey. Z-O-E-Y! Not Z. You can call me champ, if you’d like. But not Z. I am more than one letter. I glared at Ash. Will you just stop?

Ash shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans and started walking backward toward his own house. One day, Mr. Valentine, your daughter is going to figure it out, and it’s going to be all good from there, he called before disappearing into his apartment. Sometimes I felt really bad for his neighbors in the brownstone. It was bad enough living next door to him.

I turned my glare on my dad, who was chuckling. Why do you have to encourage him?

He had already changed into a comfortable outfit, which I was grateful for. I checked his jeans, noticing the bulge of the gun and tried hard not to sigh. My dad brought his gun everywhere with him, and I should have learned not to be so surprised at this point. That guy is crazy about you, Zoey. I don’t know why you hate him so much.

I grabbed his arm and started pulling him in the direction of the subway. Seriously? No…just, no. He’s awful. Do you know that he told Ol’ Barb the lunch lady that he was pining for her, and she gave him extra pie? I mean, it’s disgusting. I made a face. "And he just tried to trick me into kissing him and squirted water in my face. Like I wanted to kiss him."

Denial ain’t just a river in Egypt, he said, as we descended the steps.

Shut up, Dad, I said, but only half-heartedly. Let’s just go enjoy the game, okay?

Later that night, while on the subway home after a crushing defeat at the hands of the Yankees and my dad and I were arguing different points of the game, I realized how lucky I was. I had a great dad, a great place to live, a great best friend, and I was a senior in high school, with an impressive grade point average which guaranteed me admission into a decent college. Life was good, and the future was looking bright.

It was the right moment for the shit to hit the fan.

Chapter 2

Most teenage girls didn’t have the sort of schedule that I did. I was in honor society, always making sure that I had the best grades. I helped Madison with whatever cause she was currently working on, whether it was decorating for the latest dance or collecting food for the local food banks.

But most of my time was spent in classes. My dad had always been extremely overprotective of me. This wasn’t a bad thing of course, but it had led to me being way more equipped to protect myself than was actually necessary.

Mondays were karate, Tuesdays were kickboxing, and so on. I was proficient in so many forms of self-defense and fighting that it was almost embarrassing.

It was Thursday and as soon as I was done with cheer practice and homework, I packed up my bag, and hopped on the subway to that day’s class: mixed martial arts. MMA was just the newest of my dad’s obsessions. I had been taking it for a couple months now and was getting fairly good at it.

I spent most of my time there with the punching bag, practicing my kicks, punches and blocks. I had slipped on my ear buds, turning up the volume of my iPod so music was the only thing that I heard. Even though I constantly gave my dad a hard time for making me take these lessons, I kind of liked it. I had muscles in places I didn’t know could become muscle, and I knew that I could take care of myself if anyone came my way. Sure I had absolutely no social life outside of these various martial arts studios, but who needed a social life?

Lost in my music and the satisfying smack of my skin against the rough fabric of the punching bag, I didn’t notice when the room had gone silent and the practice fights had begun. Someone went careening into me, causing me to wrap my arms tightly around the bag to keep from falling over. I turned around and noticed the fight. I smiled sheepishly and took a seat on the floor by the mirrors, using a towel to wipe the sweat from my brow.

Two girls were already in a practice fight, and I watched them carefully, mentally correcting a step or a punch when it went the wrong way. It had always come as a surprise to me that despite never having the desire to learn to be a fighter, I was kind of a natural. I wasn’t really good at anything. I liked to read, but past second grade, they didn’t exactly hand out awards for being able to read. I wasn’t social and intelligent like Madison, and I definitely wasn’t able to try out for basketball or swimming or anything. I wasn’t exactly a team player, or at least that’s what my soccer coach had told my dad when I was five. I reluctantly cheered for the football and basketball teams because Madison was head cheer captain, and she always managed to convince me, year after year, that it was a good way for us to spend time together.

And to find cute boys to date. That part was true at least.

I wasn’t musical, and I couldn’t sing. I could recite entire scenes from The Lord of the Rings series from memory, and I knew the current batting average for every player on the Mets. I was fashionable enough to know how to dress myself well, with the odd shape that I was. But I wasn’t talented, not until I started taking defense lessons.

So, yeah, I wasn’t always fond of the next form of fighting my dad had found for me, but secretly, I was a little excited every time. It was a challenge. I liked challenges, and each form of fighting was met as a challenge I wanted to defeat.

I had spaced out a bit, my eyes glazing over as I watched the fight in front of me, which meant I had missed seeing my dad enter the studio. The room erupted into fierce whispers, and I felt my face flush.

Dad was something of a celebrity, in the only way that a police chief could actually be a celebrity. He had worked his way up the ranks fairly quickly and was a really young police chief. New York City was an impossible place sometimes as a cop: people died every day, there was crime everywhere, and you couldn’t solve every crime. But that didn’t stop my dad from trying, and it didn’t stop him from making a small dent in that crime rate. He was also known for not always following the rules, which got him into trouble but the city saw him as a hero. They loved hearing that he had beaten a serial rapist in the face until he bled.

Valentine, you’re up, my instructor shouted at me and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. I didn’t fight most classes because I usually ended up winning, and the other girls didn’t learn anything from receiving a beating. I was only being thrown into a fight because my dad was here to watch.

He stood against the wall, his arms folded tight across his chest. He was in civilian clothes, but he was never truly a civilian, and you could see the outlines of his guns beneath the fabric of his jeans. Dad was in his late thirties, young to have an eighteen-year-old daughter. He and my mom had married young, after finding out they were expecting me. A lot of girls at school were always finding ways to come to my house and I suppose it was because he was good looking or something. He was my dad though, and that was something I avoided thinking about.

Right now, for instance, I could see more than a few of the girls stealing glances his way. He had his serious cop face on that made him look intimidating and a bit mysterious as well, as if there was a wall that couldn’t be broken down, a wall that any woman would just be dying to break down.

To me, he was just my dad. He was the guy who helped me pick out my prom dress, took me to baseball games, and challenged me to eat an entire medium size Hawaiian pie all by myself, which I accomplished thank you very much. He was the guy who sat on the couch drinking a beer, watched crappy action movies and had a weird addiction to professional wrestling.

I pushed myself off the ground, making sure the tape around my hands was still tight and ready. I jumped around loosening myself up a bit. My opponent was a girl named Stacy, who was good but doubted her own abilities. She could pack a punch, no problem, but she didn’t want to and that was her weakness. I felt bad every time I stepped up to fight her.

Her arms were up in a block, and I paced in a circle, my arms up and ready. I threw a punch, and she dodged it. Her leg came up in a kick, and I grabbed it, twisting it so she fell to the ground. She scrambled backward, trying to gain the momentum to stand back up, but I was quick, and I had her pinned down to the ground.

Good work, Zoey, my instructor said, sounding anxious, tossing a glance at my father.

Thanks, I said, standing up and offering a hand and an apologetic smile to Stacy. She smiled back, taking my hand, and I hoisted her up.

You weren’t evenly matched, Dad said, his deep voice carrying across the room. Everyone turned to look at him, and then back at me. You win because you’re fighting those who aren’t matched to you or, frankly, just don’t want to fight. He offered Stacy a smile and she smiled shyly in return. You should be in a boy’s class. They would at least offer you a challenge.

I felt a wave of irritation roll through me. He was the reason I was even in these classes and when I was good, I still wasn’t good enough. Well, I said, sarcasm seeping into my voice, you could always arrange that, couldn’t you? I think my Wednesdays might be free.

I was being sassy and pushing buttons, and I knew it. My dad had a small smirk at the corner of his mouth. I heard a girl sigh behind me, and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

Well, I don’t know that I have to go that far, he said, uncrossing his arms, and coming toward the mats. He rolled up his sleeves, and I heard a few laughs behind me. I was totally in trouble now. Why not try fighting someone who is a challenge?

I felt a wave of doubt wash through me. The last person that I wanted to fight was my dad, a guy who took down drug dealers on a daily basis. I sighed like I was bored. I don’t want to hurt you, old man.

His smirk grew a bit more, and I nearly stopped. I nearly backed down and admitted that there was no way I could actually try and take down my dad. My pride always got the better of me though. I was the star of this class, and there was no way I was admitting defeat. Defense position, he ordered, nodding at me.

I rolled my eyes, but raised my arms, fists clenched. He was standing there, not even in position. I knew I had to act quickly, catch him off guard before he could take me down in one swipe. I stepped closer. He studied me, his eyes intent on mine. I threw a left punch, and he dodged it effortlessly. My right hook was coming up not even a split second later, aimed for his throat. He reached almost lazily for my fist and twisted my arm around. His hand grabbed my leg, and I flipped, landing with a hard oomph on my back, seeing stars.

You know, you didn’t have to flip me, I said.

Dad laughed, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. He stopped in front of a street vendor, handing over a wrinkly five-dollar bill. Want one? he said, pointing to the admittedly tempting hot dogs spinning in the case. I shook my head. Someone had to teach you a lesson in humility.

I have plenty of humility, I grumbled, shifting the strap of my bag so it fit more comfortably on my shoulder.

No, you really don’t, he said, taking an enthusiastic bite out of the hot dog that was just handed to him. Your real weakness is your pride. You’re good, so you think nobody can beat you.

Well, I’m obviously wrong about that, I said, wincing at my sore back.

He laughed again. I wasn’t kidding when I said I would put you in a men’s class. Maybe going up against those who are much stronger than you would make you better and less cocky and flashy.

I scowled. He was mostly right about that. "I am good."

Yeah. Yeah, you are, he said, looking down at me appraisingly. He wrapped his arm tightly around my neck. Come on, let’s go get pizza. He finished the last couple bites of his hot dog. I’m starving.

It’s supposed to be draping! How do you even consider that draping? They’re vines. It’s supposed to look effortless! Madison stomped her foot down, her small face red with exhaustion and frustration. I knew a meltdown was probably coming soon.

Brody, high atop a ladder, paused for a moment in the middle of his work and looked at Madison. Babe, this is not effortless.

Well, it should be, she said, not meeting his eyes but consulting her clipboard instead. Zoey, have we heard from the DJ?

Hmm? I said, vaguely. I was sitting on one of the black iron benches that lined the open courtyard in the middle of the square buildings that were St. Joseph’s Prep. A book was open in my lap, American Gods by Neil Gaiman, one of my absolute favorites.

Get your head out of the book for like an hour, can you, please? Madison begged. She had pulled her slick black hair in a perfect bun, and had no less than three or four pens stuck in the bun. She was still wearing her workout clothes from cheer practice. The DJ, Zoey, the DJ?

Last I heard, he’d be here at 6 p.m., to be ready in time for doors opening at 7 p.m., I said. Everything is going to be fine.

Yeah, right, she said. Does anyone have a pen? My eyebrow rose in response, and she immediately reached for her bun. She smiled sheepishly, and then her eyes went wide. Ash, no, seriously? What are you doing?

I turned and glanced over my shoulder. Ash had been put in charge of draping the Christmas lights that Madison had purchased, a task that I had thought was way too optimistic for him. True to form, none of the lights were put up, and instead were wrapped around his body, lighting him up like a Christmas tree. I rolled my eyes and turned back to my book.

Please, will you go help him? Madison said, her hands over her eyes. I can’t handle this. I’m a wreck.

Maddie, it’s going to be great, just like every single dance turns out great, I said, irritated at being interrupted again. I was only present at the setup for the dance under duress. Madison had signed me up herself, of course. She did that for most of her committees.

She turned her evil eye on me for a moment. This is a pivotal dance, Zoey. The fall dance sets the tone for the entire school year. It shows everyone here at school whether I am capable of planning Homecoming or Winter Formal or prom. This is the beginning and end of our entire year as seniors.

I held my hands up in surrender, biting back the laugh that was threatening to burst out. All right, all right, I said, looking at all the action around us. Brody was on the ladder, draping the vines, and it looked just fine